Tea at Crawley House
by SarLei
Summary: The afternoon Isobel gives Lord Merton an answer to his proposal. And a night and morning that follow.
1. An Afternoon

She smiles at him, softly, repeatedly, and a bit hesitant. He can see she doesn't know exactly where to start. _Don't get shy on me, Isobel?_

He chuckles at his thought. They are shy around each other all the time, after all. She seems to grasp what he is thinking though, and her smile grows wider and she shakes her head, ever so slightly.

"Dear Lord Merton..." At this, she starts to laugh, truly laugh, and her hands move up to cover her face. He can see how she is so embarrassed, so mortified at her behaviour and he could be decent now, and turn away to give her time to compose herself.

He's not offended, not in the least, he knows how awkward it all is. He has never truly courted a woman before, his first proposal of marriage to his later wife had differed completely to this second one to her, and everything is so different now anyway. So, probably, he should do the decent thing, but truth be told, he thinks it's wonderful, how she sits there laughing at her own bashfulness, how the sunlight that streams through the window catches in her hair and how, in only a few minutes, they could be looking forward to a life together. _We truly_ _could._

So he does not care, because her mind must be made up anyway, and slowly grasps her hands, takes them away from her face and gathers them in his own. She certainly seems surprised by this, but she looks pleasantly surprised to him.

Her gaze falls down to their gathered hands for a moment, between them on the settee, and when she looks up again there are tears gathered in her eyes, and he cannot quite place them, but she does it for him with saying: "Richard, the thing is..." He realizes they have changed in that moment, that his gesture has changed them. They are both serious now, truly serious. "...the thing is, and I have thought about this for a very long time..."

He gently squeezes her hand. _It's alright, Isobel. You just have to say either way._

* * *

><p>She cannot say how moved she is. She has been hit by nerves, and he came, literally came, to guide her out of it. He looks at her, and it's not as if he expects her to say yes, or does assume it, his look is telling her it is alright, however she has decided, he wants the best for her and she only has to say.<p>

She has been flattered by his advances, by his interest in her, and then his declaration of love. Yes, she has been flattered. She's lonely too, not necessarily in the devastating way she was after Matthew has died, but she is. And it's not that she would take anything or anybody just to get away from it, but she has thought, and thought, and thought... _To be with him is good. And I do like him. _This would make her Lady Merton. _Could I be that? _It certainly doesn't sound so wrong.

She has asked him to come for tea, because he does deserve an answer eventually, and although she still hadn't been entirely convinced, she had made up her mind. What had been missing then, she does now have, in a simple gesture from him. He has come for her.

* * *

><p>"Yes. Yes, I will marry you." And she sees how his face brightens up, how he takes her hand and kisses it, and all is said now. Her tears start to fall, and it's because the burden has been lifted from her heart. It's in the open now and it feels right. She truly believes that she has every right to be happy, life has taken so much from her but now it gives, in form of him, a life together, something to share.<p>

Her saying yes seems to have unburdened him too, of his worry to get it right, his reluctance, and he softly wipes her tears away and leans in. And suddenly he is kissing her, and she's surprised and it's awkward at first, but they will have many more awkward firsts, and then it's good, and right, and it's been such a long time for both of them, but it all doesn't matter now.

Love is no longer a word spoken, but felt. _Truly, whole-heartedly._ _Yes._

They let go, and just look at each other, allowing themselves a few moments of time to get used to all that is new between them. _Yes. Oh, yes. _It would all be well now.

**A/N: Thoughts on this would be very welcome. :) **


	2. A Night

She slowly turns and draws the blankets tighter around herself. It has been a while since she last lay awake all night, yet she remembers the loneliness, the desperation that comes with thoughts returning again and again, seeking for settlement but only bringing more confusion. She remembers it all too well.

_Reginald_. She hasn't done it in years, but right now she imagines, fetches the memory of his arms around her, protecting her from harsh realities, offering refuge and warmth. She wants to drown in the feeling of having him close. _My dearest Isobel. _

It's been so long. He has been taken from her for so long. And now, bereft of the chance to another try for happiness, she finds that she misses him. She hasn't missed him like this since Matthew has married. And it's so easy to give in. To just give in and remember. _Miss Turnbull, could I walk you home? I'm so sorry dearest, I won't make it tonight. You did it, Isobel, you did it! Could you fetch me my bag, love? Come here now, it's alright, come here. _

She has lived years without him. The memory of their time together a constant part of her thoughts, the memory of his touch ghosting over her during the night, the memory of his voice filling her head in silent moments. He had told her he would never leave her, and he had never done so. Yet she would have been ready, ready for another love to fill her heart, to add to the memories, to make her feel cherished now, in the present.

She could have done with a companion, with somebody next to her at night, she would have liked it. She cares for Richard deeply, it could have been good. She has all the love to give. And she would have been ready to let Reginald go, to move on with him secured in her heart. _Safe. Remembered. _

But it's all different now. She feels foolish, in a way, to have even considered it. To think it would be possible for her to marry again, to seek an adventure. _My last one._

She's hurt beyond compare. Yet again. In her heart though, she still quietly wants it. This wedding. Him. She turns towards the window. _Reginald. What should I do?_

* * *

><p>He wonders, sometimes, if she still haunts him. If their sons, who have been her doing, are her retaliation for him making her unhappy, for binding her to a life she wasn't made for. A life she had merged into all the more for it, in all their time together. <em>Decent. Respectable. Admired.<em>

He knows that he should have tried harder. Should have been around more often, should have protected their sons from her constant perfectionism, her obsession with propriety. He should have made them realize that decency requires kindness and thoughtfulness first and foremost.

Isobel is right. He cannot blame his sons for things he himself allowed to happen. He cannot blame them for loving their mother and resenting him for things they cannot understand, will never understand because he won't make them by forcing them into marriages they could not succeed in.

_Isobel. _He has seen the hurt in her eyes, has seen how the glow that had encompassed her since their first kiss has steadily diminished, leaving her heartbroken. He has seen it in the way she had looked down, avoiding his glance.

He should have told her, later, in the hall, that it didn't matter to him. That his sons had never been truly his anyway. He should have reassured her. But he had known, in the moment she wouldn't look at him anymore, had known that what had happened at the table ran deeper than his reassurance could. His marriage had been one marked by ignorance of the other, it had left him with much to learn.

And all is still so new between them. So much left to be discovered. So much left to say. He prays to god he will still have the chance. _Don't leave me. Let me fill your lonely heart. Allow me to love you, to put all my might into this love. Isobel. _

_Isobel._


	3. A Morning

He walks up towards the house, finally, now that Rose's wedding is over and she's back from London. He has given her some time without calling up on her, has thought that she might want that, but he has missed her and has wanted to see her desperately. To talk. To put things right. _Every day ever since, Isobel. Every day. _

He is just about to knock when he sees her in the garden, sitting on the small bench under the tree, her face turned towards the morning sun. Her hands are gathered in her lap and her eyes are closed, her features content, a bit worn out perhaps. It's a sight very fitting to her, dignified just as much as she is, a beautiful picture he knows he won't forget, won't get tired of, no matter the place or circumstance. It's all he needs to reassure him, to give him hope. _You gave me the ability to love equally and entirely, Isobel. Let's do right to that. _

He slowly makes his way over to her, and she must be in thought, for she isn't aware of him until he is quite close.

"Hello Isobel."

* * *

><p>She startles, but only a bit, she has known he would come at some point. The utter resignation she has felt in the first days after the wretched dinner has died down, leaving her wondering. She has spent her nights asking herself again and again what she wants, what she is capable of. She has missed him all the while, but there have been nights she has been telling herself it just cannot be and others in which she has felt ready to brave everything together with him. And now that he's standing right beside her, there is one thing perfectly clear for the moment. <em>I'm glad you're here, Richard.<em>

She turns towards him and he can see it in her inviting smile, in the way she pats the free space beside her, inviting him to sit down next to her. He does, and they are quiet for a moment. _Thanks for letting me in, Isobel. _

They don't look at each other, they don't touch. And then he starts to tell her everything he has resolved to tell.

He tells her of his marriage, of how it came about and developed, tells her of his boys, of how he has never been able to reach them, to get through to them. He tells her again, and in all detail, of how he has fallen in love with her. He's honest, he gives all he has to give.

He can feel her slightly sitting up every time she wants to interrupt him. She wouldn't be Isobel Crawley if she would not like to have her say, but he quietly declines her attempts with a small gesture of his hand. _I'm so new at this, my dear. _She realizes quickly and gives in, her gaze turning down to her hands. _Alright, then. _

She has never heard him talk like that. He has always been honest with her, but all that has been said seems cursorily in comparison to this. She hasn't expected it. His words are considered, deferent, he bears no grudge towards anyone, and if he does it's born just as much towards himself. He isn't bitter, or angry.

When he talks about her, about them, it's lovely and she shares many of the sentiments he mentions, not all of them, because they do come from different paths and she has loved so much already, but there is enough to make her realize that the love outweighs the difficulties and doubts. He is talking of love, and she is responding in love, silently but with devotion.

* * *

><p>"I firmly believe that God only leads us on paths we can bear to go on, gives us challenges we are able to accept and grief we can overcome in the end. You are example for this much more than I am, Isobel, but I know that I love you and there must be something right in that."<p>

He falls silent and only now turns towards her. The sight that meets him is even more beautiful than before, because the strong, wilful Isobel Crawley of moments ago is biting her lip now, holding back tears that show in her eyes, intently staring down on her lap. He slowly reaches for her cheek and turns her towards him. _Won't you say something, Isobel?_

He's coming for her again. He has given himself and his thoughts to her, and now he's coming to take her home. There is nothing left for her but to respond willingly, because she knows in her heart that he is right. She is still sorry about the difficulties it will lead to, but she will leave them to him, because he is willing to take them on. He is taking the burden off her and she cannot say how much she cherishes it, to be able to leave it to him, to give parts of her life into his responsibility. _I have missed this so much._

* * *

><p>She looks up and frees her lower lip, there's an evidence of a smile and then her lips are on his. She puts all her might into that kiss, and it is returned in just the same notion.<p>

It's her way of saying thank you. _I love you too._ And it's everything to him.

As soon as they let go of each other, she puts a strand of hair back into place, gets up and rightens her clothes. They're both flustered for a moment, surprised at what just happened, but it passes quickly.

She turns towards him and extends her hand.

"Would you like some tea?" she asks and her typical, gracious smile is back, silently inviting him, daring him with her head slightly cocked. _Won't you come, Mr Grey? _

He gets up and takes her hand. _With pleasure, Lady Merton._

~End~

**A/N: I haven't seen the Christmas Special yet, so I don't know what is in store for Isobel and Lord Merton, but this is how my little tale comes to an end. :) Thank you for your reviews, I loved reading what you thought and appreciate them very much. **

**Merry Christmas! :) **


End file.
